


All of You and All of Me

by Gerec



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Arranged Marriage, House of M - Freeform, Love Triangles, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-15 10:18:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4603068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik Lehnsherr aka Magneto is King of Genosha, forty-three and the veteran of countless wars against the British Empire. </p><p>Charles Xavier is his new husband, in a marriage arranged by the King of England as part of the peace treaty between their two kingdoms.</p><p>Logan Howlett is Charles' long time friend and bodyguard, in a secret love affair with the married Prince Consort.</p><p>Or Regency/Arranged Marriage/Age Difference/House of M style/Love Triangle AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secrets and Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by this prompt fom Xavierine Fest:  
>  _Regency AU with Charles as the crown prince who's been betrothed to another kingdom's heir since his birth, and his childhood friend Logan becoming his personal knight guard, and a passionate forbidden love between the two of them_

_Logan_

The palace ballroom is bustling with music and laughter tonight, packed almost wall to wall with foreign dignitaries and the Genoshan ruling elite. It is the twentieth anniversary of the founding of the mutant nation, a glorious occasion for celebration, as well as a chance for some of the island’s inhabitants to get a rare glimpse of royalty.

Magneto is holding court at one end of the vast hall, flanked by his closest advisors. The Lady Frost is resplendent in a flowing gown of sparkling white, with matching gloves that cover her arms to her elbows, a diamond tiara in her perfectly coiffed hair. Duke Azazel is in his full Naval dress uniform, the silver buttons on his dark blue jacket gleaming under the flickering lights of a hundred oil lamps.

The King himself is dressed all in black, with epaulets, cuffs and collar trimmed in gold. He wears a long fur lined cape and a blue sash across his chest, adorned with various medals for his service to Genosha during the Liberation Wars. At forty three his dark brown hair is just beginning to streak silver around his temples, adding to the already distinguished air of one of the country’s most powerfully Gifted.

But Logan’s eyes are drawn solely to the fourth member of that party, to the still newly crowned Prince Consort standing arm in arm with the King. More than two decades his junior, Charles Xavier’s arranged marriage to Erik Lehnsherr is both negotiation tactic and peace treaty; a gesture of goodwill from the British Empire to the people of Genosha. In another overt attempt to promote their union Charles has been dressed almost exactly the same way as Lehnsherr, though in lieu of black he is wearing a jacket in deep sapphire blue. Rakishly handsome with brown curls and red lips, Xavier exudes a youthful exuberance and warmth of spirit, cutting a markedly different figure from his stoic husband.

From across the crowded ballroom their eyes meet, and Charles’ lips curve even higher into a devilish grin. Logan only just manages to keep his expression neutral, suppressing the urge to roll his own eyes at the heated promise in that smile. It has been four days since they last had time alone together, and Logan is anxious to make the most of what’s to come.

 _Patience darling_ , Charles whispers, an imagined caress against his ear, sending a naked shiver down his spine. _A few more minutes here and I’ll join you in the cellar._

Logan takes a sip of his wine then, to hide his grin. _I’m not very good at being patient, Charles._

 _No_ , the voice answers, amused and indulgent. _But you do have many other_ admirable _traits._

He proceeds to send many images of what constitutes as Logan’s admirable traits, images of Logan and Charles in various compromising positions and state of undress. They have been lovers now for over three years, ever since Lord Brian Xavier, Duke of York and Admiral of His Majesty’s Royal Navy hired him to be companion and bodyguard to his sole son and heir.

That Logan would follow Charles to Genosha after his marriage to Magneto was never a question, though the Duke likely thought money and freedom from the trappings of an English Court to be key motivators. Smart the man may be but the Duke clearly underestimates Charles’ captivating personality and effect on others; Logan is not the only one – mutant or not – to follow him across the ocean to a new life.

“You are being quite obvious,” Raven chides, smirk undeniable as she glances between Logan and her adoptive brother at Erik’s side. “He might tolerate your close friendship with Charles but I doubt he would allow you within ten feet of him if he knew it was…more.”

Logan does not doubt the truth of her words; though Magneto may feel little more than grudging respect and keen admiration for Charles and his Gift, he is sure that a man so prideful and used to his way would not appreciate being cuckolded by his much younger husband.

“We are discreet,” he replies, turning his back to King and Consort, “and I trust Charles to know his limits.”

Raven – lovely in a pale cream gown contrasting beautifully with her natural blue form – takes his arm and leads them onto the dance floor, where the two glide slowly amidst a vibrant sea of color. He is too anxious right now to enjoy Raven’s pleasant company, eager as he is with both lust and longing for his lover.

“My brother is quite brilliant,” she acknowledges, pointedly but with a sense of enduring fondness, “and quite powerful indeed. But for all his ability to read a man’s thoughts he can be blind to their heart’s true nature, and I think he has misjudged Erik to a great degree. He wants more from the marriage than Charles believes.”

“They sleep together, Raven,” Logan scoffs, and he does his best to ignore the twinge in his gut at the reminder. “He is here, thousands of miles from his childhood home, warming Lehnsherr’s bed. Playing host and diplomat and doting husband for the masses. What else does he expect?”

Raven shakes her head, and gives him a sad, sympathetic smile. “You are being equally obtuse, Logan. Erik wants Charles to love him, as much as he’s grown to love my brother.”

He takes a step away then, as the dance draws to a close, bowing stiffly to hide the anger on his face. “I think Charles has given enough of himself to Magneto,” he snaps, “and I have a claim to his heart that won’t be so easily replaced.”

x

_Charles_

Charles can’t help but track Logan and Raven onto the dance floor, as he pretends to listen to the sycophantic ramblings of yet another well-meaning noble, eager to pay homage to the royal couple. His body is already tingling with excitement over their planned rendezvous; the thought of Logan’s hands and lips on his skin making his blood surge and his pants tent with anticipation.

He can feel the tenor of Erik’s thoughts at his side, as bored and uninterested as his expression is a mask of careful politeness. An agreement upon his arrival in Genosha had Charles promising to stay out of Erik’s mind, one he was glad to make at the time. Though he was used to hearing all manner of thoughts - both pleasant and not - he found it easier on his pride not to know the exact details of his new husband’s regard for him.

Then again, the man’s actions soon made things abundantly clear to Charles.

When he sees Logan exit the ballroom after the end of the dance, shoulders hunched over with tension, it’s all Charles can do to not run after him. Though he doubts that Erik would concern himself over Charles’ affairs – love or otherwise – he is not so reckless as to endanger the image they are meant to project. Their marriage after all is both a grand union and a symbol of hard won peace; it is Charles’ duty to help sell their story as a happy one to the rest of Genosha.

He catches Lady Frost watching him with her keen eyes and a knowing grin, and nudges her sharply with his Gift. She does not give him the satisfaction of an outward wince in reply, though her expression does turn icy when he gives her a faint nod and a wry smile.

“Would you like another drink,” Erik asks, as they retreat behind the curtains to a side chamber away from the waiting line, taking a break from the monotony of meaningless prattle with hundreds of eager guests. Charles is perfectly suited to his role as the charming Consort, though he is too distracted now to give much more than his share of half-hearted smiles.

“No thank you,” he answers, and slips his hand from Erik’s arm, putting a more comfortable distance between the two of them as he adjusts his jacket and sleeves. “I think I’d rather like to find my sister now. And perhaps freshen up a bit. I shall be back in time for your speech of course. Do you mind?”

He expects a curt nod from Erik; perhaps even a small note of appreciation for time he does not have to spend in Charles’ company. Instead, his husband takes his hand, a gesture so out of character that Charles involuntarily stiffens at the touch.

“If you go out into the crowd, you’ll be swamped with more _well-wishers_ ,” and the snide way in which Erik emphasizes the word brings an unbidden smile to Charles’ lips. “I can ask someone to bring Raven here, and you can spend some time alone with her in the antechamber.”

The thoughtfulness is unexpected – and not entirely welcome _now_ of all times, as Charles is anxious to put as much distance as he can between himself and the King. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I am quite capable of diverting unwanted attention away, as you well know. And I would very much like to dance with my sister before the evening is over.”

Erik’s lips press into a thin line and his eyes narrow, and for a moment, he looks genuinely angry at Charles’ response. But before Charles can find the appropriate words to placate him his husband’s expression softens, and he moves to pull him close, hands sliding gently from Charles’ shoulders to grip his arms.

“Do not be long,” Erik urges, surprising Charles with something more akin to a plea than a command. “I wish to have you by my side when I give my speech—”

“Yes Erik, I told you I’ll be there--”

“—and I would also like to dance with my Consort.”

Charles’ indignation all but dissipates at Erik’s words. “You would?”

“Yes.” Erik tips his chin up, forcing Charles to stare into his eyes, and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “I would.”

He is vaguely aware, how close the two of them are standing, sharing an intimacy they’ve only previously experienced in the privacy of their chambers. But Erik’s eyes are intent on him now in the way he has always gazed upon Charles’ nude body; with a hunger that demands to be sated, no matter the trifling distance that separates them from the crowd outside.

“Erik,” he says, schooling his voice, hiding his visceral reaction to the unspoken promise, “I’ll be back soon.”

“Good,” Erik answers, but what appeared to be an almost hopeful expression on the King’s face quickly shutters, and his voice turns icy cold with disdain. “Remember your place, Charles, as Prince Consort, and do not be late. I won’t have any reckless behavior mar such a historic day.”

“Yes, of course,” Charles agrees through gritted teeth, and promptly turns away, all but fleeing from the suddenly harsh and stifling tension. He plasters a smile on his face when he steps around the curtain again, choosing to ignore the curious looks from Duke Azazel and the Lady Frost. Diverting attention away as he exits the ballroom takes much of Charles’ energy and concentration, and by the time he exits into the near empty hallways, Erik – and their unpleasant encounter - have already been dismissed and easily forgotten.

x

“Charles,” Logan whispers, his name falling like a prayer from his lover’s lips. “Charles, I’m going to come.”

He’s on his knees on the hard stone floor, surrounded by the palace’s extensive stock of fine wine and barrels of Genoshan ale; a far cry from silk sheets and a warm bed, and the days when he and Logan had the luxury of time. But there is no place he’d rather be than here, letting Logan fuck his mouth as he strokes him to completion with deft hands, relishing the taste when he comes in hot spurts, and licking his lips to savor every last drop.

“Mm,” he teases, as Logan slumps to the ground, pulling Charles onto his lap with a grunt. “You taste good.”

Logan huffs, a smile on his lips. “Better than the roasted beef at tonight’s banquet?”

Charles grins. “Better than all the dishes put together. Better than anything.”

Here, in the bowels of the palace overlooking Hammer Bay, Charles can let the façade of the Prince Consort fall away, if only for a few stolen moments. Can forget about the hundreds of guests above them in the ballroom, eager to see Genosha’s royal couple together in their first official engagement. Can forget his sister’s admonishments to be careful and his father’s weary resignation; Emma’s constant attempts to pry into his affairs and Moira’s new and problematic appointment as Ambassador from England.

He can even forget that he is married now, to a king; to a man who finds him naïve at best and frivolous at worse, having shown no interest in Charles beyond the might of his Gift and his talents in bed. This is his life now, and will be for the foreseeable future – to be a pretty bauble for his husband to show off and occasionally fuck, and to be content with nothing more than furtive glances and irregular trysts with the man he actually loves.

“Hey,” Logan teases, jostling him slightly. “Come back inside that big brain of yours.”

Charles smiles and leans close for a kiss, licking Logan’s lips open with a press of his tongue. “I was just thinking, about how much I love you.”

“Charles,” his lover answers, and the expression on Logan’s face grows solemn even as he gently strokes Charles’ cheek. “I love you. I will always love you. No matter what happens. It’s you and me.”

This is not how Charles wants to spend the little time he can scrounge with Logan, the two of them mourning their freedom and the choices they’ve had to make. They have already exchanged the words that truly matter – promises of love, and devotion if not fidelity – the night before his wedding to Erik.

“You have done a poor job _loving_ me,” Charles taunts, rubbing his straining erection against Logan’s hard stomach. “Do I have to satisfy myself tonight? Stroking my own cock as I lay in my bed, with the taste of you still on my lips?” 

Logan’s response is to tuck himself back inside his trousers, before lifting Charles off his lap with a growl, and pressing him against the wall. Charles’ cape is already laying on the ground from when he first entered the cellar, and now Logan proceeds to strip him quickly and efficiently, until the bottom half of him is entirely bare.

He watches Logan slick his fingers from a vial in his pocket, his legs almost shaking with anticipation. When he feels the wet slide of a finger pushing in, he moans, and Logan chuckles against his ear.

“Look at you,” he breathes, and Charles whines, clenching at the feel of Logan’s finger as he starts to move. “So perfect, so beautiful. Coming apart for me. Wishing it was my cock doing this to you instead.”

He does, more than anything; wants to feel the weight of it, thick and hard, pushing inside of him. But they both know that time is limited, especially tonight of all nights, and Charles will have to be satisfied being fucked by Logan’s fingers.

“More,” he moans, and his lover complies, slipping a second finger in with the first, rubbing against his spot with an accuracy borne from years of familiarity. He rides Logan’s fingers eagerly as Logan kisses and mouths his neck, losing himself in the heat of arousal as the pleasure builds with every new thrust.

He spares a moment to imagine the indecent picture he makes, hiding in the cellar with Logan’s fingers up his arse. Imagines the look on Erik’s face if he knew that Charles was _here_ , getting fucked, instead of dancing and laughing with his sister. The petty satisfaction sends an unexpected spike of lust to his groin, and that, combined with Logan stroking him is enough to send Charles over the edge with a gasp, pulsing all over his lover’s hand with a shuddering sigh.

x

_Erik_

Emma slips behind the curtain to join him, not long after Charles’ abrupt departure back into the crowd. Her expression is oddly sympathetic tonight, something Erik would normally reject with vehemence, but he is too tired to do much more than turn away with a grunt, reaching to pour himself another drink.

“He’s very good,” she murmurs, and he doesn’t have to ask to know that Emma is referring to his husband. “Standing next to him all night I couldn’t parse a single thought from that pretty little head. And now he’s all but disappeared; I can’t locate him at all, though he I know he hasn’t left the palace.”

“He hasn’t,” Erik agrees, because Charles is good at many things, not the least of which is maintaining appearances. “He’ll be back for the speech, and play dutiful husband by my side.”

Emma scoffs, though the usual scorn is missing from her jab. “Isn’t that why you picked him? Because he was smart enough to play the game?”

Erik scrubs his face tiredly and takes a long sip from his crystal goblet. “I picked him because he’s an Xavier, and I wanted to punish his father by taking his only son. I picked him because he’s a mutant, and young, and easy to ignore. And because he’s pretty enough to be a pleasurable fuck.”

“But something’s changed since then, hasn’t it? I can almost taste your anger leaking all over this room.”

He can’t find the words to convey everything he’s feeling at the moment, so he sends Emma permission to look, letting her piece together all of his fragmented and contradictory thoughts.

“Oh Erik,” she sighs, “this is unexpected. Falling in love with your own husband? How quaint.”

“Isn’t it?” he chuckles, the sound ringing hollow to his own ears. “He’s in the cellar.”

She doesn’t understand at first, not for a few long moments, and then suddenly Emma’s eyes narrow and her nostrils flare. “And he’s not alone.”

“No,” he agrees. “Most definitely, _not_ alone.”

He should be grateful for this show of support from Emma, her indignation on his behalf that Charles has the audacity to take a lover right under Erik’s nose. Instead, he sends a wave of annoyance at her reaction, and says, “I haven’t been a very good husband.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “That’s hardly an excuse for adultery. And I can’t believe you’re defending him!”

He shrugs. “I’m not; only speaking the truth. I married him with no intention of ever caring for him, with the expectation that he would play his role dutifully in public and spend his nights in my bed. He has performed his end of the bargain admirably…I can hardly fault him for finding love elsewhere.”

“So you’ll allow him to carry on like this? You’re not going to put a stop to this…thing he has with Howlett?”

Of course Erik has considered putting a stop to Charles’ affair with Logan; had known before tonight that the two shared much more than a simple friendship. His thoughts have strayed more than once to the idea of driving a metal spike through Howlett’s heart, to see if his touted healing power could withstand the full weight of Erik’s wrath.

“If I kill him, I’ll lose Charles.”

He has little doubt, with things as they are, that Charles’ affections for Logan supersede any perceived loyalty he might feel for Erik or their marriage; had watched with growing dissatisfaction throughout the entire evening, as Charles’ eyes darted frequently out to the crowded ballroom, attention drifting ever towards his lover. And though his young husband could shield his thoughts easily from Emma and others like her, Charles’ excitement and anticipation were almost palpable to Erik, who could see his intent clear as day.

“You don’t have to kill him,” Emma reasons, “just get rid of him. Send him back to England. It’s not as though Charles needs a bodyguard here.”

Erik shakes his head. “Charles will not let him go easily and Howlett will simply refuse. Loathe as I am to have him here I can’t make a move against him without cause.”

“Do you hear yourself? The Great Magneto, afraid to act?” she jeers, raising an elegant eyebrow at his words. “He is sleeping with your husband, Erik. That’s grounds enough to execute him.”

“And then the world will know that Charles has breached our marriage vows. He will be sent home in disgrace, to suffer the displeasure of his father and the censure of the English king. They will send me another spouse to secure our peace treaty, and I will have to live with someone I despise, instead of someone I cherish who does not love me back.”

It had been a difficult thing, watching Charles pull away from him, feeling the wedding band Erik crafted moving farther and farther away. The metal on Charles’ finger calls to him like a siren’s song, letting him track his wayward husband easily through the ballroom and the passageways, through the cellar doors and down the stairs; lets him feel the back and forth movement of Charles’ hand as he pleasures his lover while wearing Erik’s ring.

“Will you do nothing then,” Emma asks, and the disapproval is clear in her tone. “Allow them to make a fool of you behind your back and risk your reputation and Genosha’s if their affair is exposed?”

Erik finishes his drink, and grins, baring his teeth with a sharp and confident smile. “What I will do, is win my husband’s affections,” he says. “It is only a matter of time. And time, my dear Emma, is on _my_ side.”

x

_Charles_

When Charles returns Erik is waiting in almost the exact same spot, nursing his drink and staring at a painting of his inauguration hanging on the far wall. He adjusts his collar and cape discretely before moving closer, and tries not to squirm when Erik turns to greet him, raking his observant eyes over Charles from head to toe.

“You look flushed,” Erik muses, reaching to run a finger along his cheek, his eyes boring holes into Charles’ skin. “And your hair is a bit…wind-blown. Did you and Raven go outside?”

“Yes,” he lies, letting Erik smooth his tousled curls with an easy smile. “It’s a nice night for a walk in the gardens.”

His husband answers with a soft hum, circling him like a wolf on the hunt before brushing his thumb gently against Charles’ bottom lip. “You look quite lovely like this, all awash with…contentment. I want you to join me in my chambers tonight.”

The request is unexpected, and not entirely welcome; he had counted on Erik being too tired with the evening’s festivities to want Charles in his bed. “You want…what?”

“I wish to have you,” Erik whispers, his hands moving to pull Charles close, sliding slowly down his back before coming to rest on the swell of his buttocks. “I wish to kiss your puffy, red lips and taste your skin and fuck you until you scream my name.”

He has to bite back a wince when Erik presses his finger against Charles’ entrance, still sensitive from his earlier love-making with Logan. “Yes, of course,” he agrees, because he cannot afford to raise Erik’s suspicions, or his ire. “I’ll join you after a quick bath.”

“Excellent,” his husband answers, and then he’s kissing Charles softly, wrapping an arm around his waist in a bewildering show of intimacy and affection. “Come, Charles,” Erik says, looking both amused and determined, “time to put on a good show.”

 


	2. Seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is pleased, if a little bewildered by Erik's actions. 
> 
> Also - sex. Lots and lots of sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, here are another 3000 words of this Regency AU I started on a whim lol. Takes place immediately after the ball in Chapter One. Thanks for reading!
> 
> (Also, [here is the inspiration](http://gerec.tumblr.com/post/127094542006/chimis-changa-house-of-m-1-2015) for Erik's outfit in this chapter lol!)

_Charles_

By the time he returns to his rooms the bath has been readied, the water steaming hot in the claw foot tub of his expansive bathing chamber. On a night like this Charles is more than a little thankful for Genoshan eccentricities around proper hygiene, and the insistence at bathing their entire bodies at least three times a week. It is one luxury he is happy to enjoy often, thinking with an amused smile at the tiny hip bath in his old rooms at Graymalkin.

He strips out of his layers and sinks into the water with a sigh, letting the rising steam and the heat ease the weariness from his bones. The evening has been a whirlwind of fake pleasantries and diplomatic glad handing, a monotony made bearable by his too short time with Logan. He grins as he recalls his lover’s hands roaming over his heated skin; his cock stirring at the thought of rough fingers breaching him with a possessive yet gentle touch.

Dunking his head under the water helps to clear his mind of distracting thoughts, and the roar of the crowd at the end of Erik’s impassioned speech. He does his best to push away the unease at his husband’s uncharacteristic behavior; the nagging feeling that Charles is missing something important with the way Erik held his hand as they stood before the thundering applause, and then pulled him close and kissed him until he was breathless in front of the entire assembly.

It feels a lot like he’s playing a game he doesn’t know how to win, matching wits with someone who’s changed the rules without bothering to tell him.

When he resurfaces, he is surprised to discover Erik already in his rooms, having entered through the door linking their two living spaces. His husband has rarely done so in the six months they’ve been married, preferring to have Charles visit him in his chambers and then leaving immediately after sex. It is yet another oddity that unsettles him more than he cares to admit, keeping him from relaxing when Erik enters the bathing room.

“Getting impatient?” he teases, tilting his head back onto the rim of the tub, looking up at Erik with a calculated grin. “I’ll be over soon, just give me a few more minutes to finish up and get dressed.”

“Take your time,” Erik answers, with an amused quirk of his lips at Charles’ not entirely subtle attempt to send him away. “I actually came to help you with your bath.”

“You came to…”

“Hush,” Erik interrupts, a gentle, playful reprimand as he strips out of his silk robe, baring his broad chest as he settles onto a brocaded stool next to the tub. Charles stiffens involuntarily when he feels Erik’s hands slip into the water, relaxing only as they move to rub his shoulders, working the knots in his muscles expertly with a firm and experienced grip. Against his will his body arches back against the sweet and pleasured pain, letting Erik tease away the tension that’s accumulated over the course of what feels like weeks and months.

As long, elegant fingers dig deep grooves into his skin, his unfettered moans draw a pleased chuckle from his usually grim husband. He loses himself eventually to the sound of the lapping water, and the back and forth of Erik’s hands as he strips Charles of his metaphorical armor, slowly, piece by piece. The intimacy, missing from their marriage since the beginning, does not feel as awkward or as startling as it should, leaving Charles feeling raw and off-kilter even as his body responds to every claim and every demand inherent in Erik’s touch.

When the kiss comes it no longer startles, Erik’s lips lighting a path down Charles’ throat as his hands drift ever lower to stroke his chest. He groans when Erik flicks a pert nipple and worries the nub between thumb and forefinger; bucks his hips when Erik bites the sensitive spot on his collarbone, his breaths now coming harsh and fast. When Erik moves to take his lips it’s with a tenderness mingled with deep abiding hunger, wholly new and arousing as he lets his mouth fall open to the lingering taste of Genoshan’s finest wine.

He should protest he thinks, when his husband breaks their kiss to pull him up and out of the water without warning, wrapping him like a child in an oversized towel left by one of the servants. But Erik preempts his complaints with another sweep of his lips, his tongue delving deep and all-consuming, leaving Charles no choice but to push up against him, eager for more.

“Erik,” he says, but his words are cut short by the way Erik takes a step back and stares, eyes hot as he drags the cloth over every exposed inch of wet and pinked skin. He touches everywhere and nowhere important; under Charles’ arms and across his back, between his thighs and down both legs, deliberately ignoring the straining erection curving thick against his stomach.

It feels like surrender when Erik finally touches him, hands reaching around to cup his arse, his tongue darting out to slowly savor the texture and taste of Charles’ cock. His legs quiver with each slow flick of Erik’s tongue, making him curl his fingers around the edge of the tub to hold himself upright. They threaten to give away completely when Erik reaches to stroke him - once, twice, and then a third time, sporting a pleased grin on his face - before taking Charles down his throat with a satisfied hum.  

This is not the first time Erik has used his mouth to pleasure him; sex has always been the most fulfilling and uncomplicated part of their marriage. But his husband has never before put such effort into pleasing Charles, used to taking what he wanted – and when he wanted - to sate his lust.

He rocks his hips gently, letting the feel of tight, wet heat sink into every part of him, relishing the view of the King of Genosha on his knees as Charles fucks his open mouth. The sense of power is heady and enticing; that Erik is willing to relinquish at least _some_ of his vaunted self-control, no longer needing to prove his desire for Charles’ body as something he needed to vent quickly from his system.

It almost takes him by surprise when he comes, so lost in the rhythm of mouth and hands that it startles a shout from Charles when he goes over the edge, spurting hot and heavy straight down Erik’s throat. He slumps against the tub, limbs loose and panting for breath, his husband holding him steady with his hands tight around his hips.

“Good?”

 _It’s_ _bloody fantastic_ , he thinks, and entirely unexpected, though the blissful high is slowly being replaced by guilt for enjoying Erik’s ministrations. Their marriage is a business transaction, and sex is just part of the arrangement, and Charles shouldn’t enjoy his husband’s hands on him nearly as much as he does.

“Very good,” he agrees, and moves to return the favor, falling to his knees and reaching for the tie to Erik’s trousers. But Erik stills Charles’ hands and shakes his head, smiling as he pulls the both of them up and off the floor.

“The bed,” he says, and then he’s lifting Charles up and into his arms, forcing Charles to wrap his legs around Erik’s slender waist to hang on. Charles retaliates with a blistering kiss, gripping Erik by the back of the head and lapping the taste of his own seed from Erik’s mouth. They half topple, half trip their way from the bathing chamber out into the main bedroom, laughing as they collapse into a heap on top of Charles’ large and overly decorated bed.

Reluctantly, Erik pulls away to strip quickly out of his trousers, standing nude and hard before an appreciative Charles, sprawled across the bed. His husband never takes his eyes off of him as he moves, quick and economical as he pulls a vial of oil from the dresser drawer, before tugging the curtains closed around their bed, trapping them both inside a luxurious cage of silk and satin.

It is dark, but not oppressively so, some of the light filtering through the sheen of material that drapes over the bed. Charles is reminded of a cocoon, or diving deep into the sea; the curtains a makeshift barrier keeping the world beyond from intruding into their inner sanctum.

Erik pulls Charles into his arms with a low growl, pressing him into the mattress with a bruising kiss. His husband kisses the same way Charles imagines that he fought his wars; with an intent to dominate through raw power and sheer force of will. It’s a demand to give in and to surrender, and to let yourself be swept away by the coming storm.

But Charles does not give in without a fight; will not be so easily conquered by a few mad thrusts of Erik’s groin against his own. They dance the dance of equals in the bedroom, no matter that Erik is older and purportedly more experienced. Charles is by no means a blushing virgin despite his age, and Logan is not the first lover he has taken, though he is the only one to have secured a place in Charles’ heart.

Their kiss ends when Erik flips him onto his stomach without warning, pinning Charles immobile as he rubs himself against his arse cheeks. He lets himself relax into the sheets with a sigh, ready for Erik to work him open with his fingers. He does _not_ expect to feel the press of Erik’s tongue in his most vulnerable place, licking and probing him incessantly like they’ve done this a hundred times before tonight; like Charles is the finest feast and Erik is a man starved.

He clenches in shock, but Erik is undeterred, his large hands kneading Charles’ flesh to spread him wide. Oiled fingers join Erik’s tongue in their quest to lay Charles bare, to strip everything until he’s nothing more than a rasping, panting mess.

It goes on and on, wave after wave of never ending pleasure, and Charles’ finds himself losing all sense of time as Erik takes him apart. His cock is trapped between his stomach and a bed too soft to provide relief, his fingers curling into the silk sheets as he moans against the feathered pillow. He keens and writhes and arches against Erik’s mouth, reduced to _heat_ and _need_ and _please I want more_.

“Charles,” Erik says, and his voice is suddenly right beside his ear, his hand gently cradling the back of his neck. “Come and ride me.”

An order, and also a plea, and Charles rolls them over until he’s straddling Erik on the bed, his hands pressing down on his heaving chest.  Erik’s pupils are wide and his lips puffy and wet, and Charles is thrilled to see that he is not the only one so aroused and so affected.

“Charles,” Erik whispers again, and it’s enough to make him move, his hand wrapping around Erik’s girth to guide them both into position. He pushes, and Erik thrusts, and then he’s groaning as he sinks down the thick shaft, slowly and carefully until he’s seated flush against Erik’s hips.

“Oh god,” Charles pants, digging his toes into the sheets. He will never get over how good it feels to take all of Erik’s cock inside him; how satisfying it is to be so full and used. With a grin he starts rocking up and down, teasing his husband with slow circles and an easy, gentle grind.

They move together as one, Erik’s hands on his arse and Charles’ thighs pressed against Erik’s hips, intent on wringing every ounce of pleasure from each other’s bodies. But it soon becomes altogether too much – and also not enough – the languid pace shifting into a mad and desperate rut.

He clenches, and Erik grunts, throwing his head back with a growl as Charles rides him fast and hard. It’s almost enough to bring him over, being so fucking full, and he reaches to stroke his cock, intent on finishing himself off. But it seems as though his husband has something else in mind again, rolling them over and bracing himself on top of Charles, sealing their lips together for a passionate kiss, edged with a hint of desperation.

Inexplicably Erik stops moving completely, ignoring Charles’ whine and the impatient buck of his hips. He curls an arm under Charles’ knee, propping him wide, his mouth gentle as he takes his time worrying marks all over Charles’ skin. When he finally starts again, it’s in short and deliberate jabs, until Charles entire body stiffens and he gasps, the pleasure becoming almost too much to bear. And then Erik is picking up the pace once more, brushing his sensitive spot with every thrust, fucking him steadily until Charles is begging with every fiber of his being to come.

He squeaks when Erik pulls him up and onto his lap, throwing his legs over his shoulders so he can shove himself ever deeper. In his current position he can’t move or push back; can only let himself feel every brutal slam of Erik’s hips as his husband fucks him right into the bed.

“Erik,” he shouts, coming all over his stomach, the pressure erupting like a lightning storm. His clenching drags Erik over the edge only a few moments later, hot and sticky spurts filling Charles to overflowing.

\----

They lay together in the dark, their breaths loud and obscene, slowly coming down from their shared and rapturous high. When Erik promptly gets up and out of bed he moves to shift under the covers, uncaring of the trail of come leaking from his well fucked arse. The press of a warm washcloth against his skin is a bit unexpected, though not more so than anything else Erik has done tonight, and he grunts his thanks before rolling over, intending to fall asleep.

He is already half unconscious when the bed dips again, and he feels his husband shifting behind him, arms wrapping around his chest. There’s a soft kiss on his brow that he files away for later, too tired and too satisfied for anymore thinking, and doesn’t so much answer as hum when Erik whispers in his ear, “Goodnight Charles.”

\-----

In the morning, stiff and sore all over, he finds himself waking alone in his bed, the curtains pulled back and sunlight streaming in from the open window. Charles is unsurprised to find no sign of Erik in his rooms; is in fact _more_ shocked that his husband had actually deigned to spend last night in his bed, no matter that the sex had been amazing for them both.

He lets his mind drift hazily over the memories from the night before, how wonderful it felt to be in Logan’s arms, feeling safe and cherished and loved. And how exciting – and deliciously _dangerous_ \- it was to let Erik sweep him away with uncomplicated pleasure, letting himself be vulnerable with a man he can’t bring himself to trust.

His thoughts are interrupted then by a knock at the door, followed quickly by Erik stepping into the room with a silver tray in his hands. His husband is still dressed as he was the night before, chest bare under a long silk robe and thin trousers barely concealing the outline of his half hard cock.

“You’re awake!” Erik says with a warm smile, ignoring the bewildered look on Charles’ face as he sets the tray down on the nightstand. He leans over to cup Charles’ cheek with his hand, and presses a soft kiss on his lips before pulling back to sit on the edge of the bed. “I brought you breakfast.”

“You…brought me breakfast.”

Erik grins, the expression wide and toothy, the one Charles has seen him use only on the rarest of occasions when he’s truly pleased with himself. “Pottage; you should eat it while it’s hot. There’s bacon and eggs too, and I had the cook include some fresh raspberries, since I know they’re your favorite.”

Charles pulls himself up until he’s sitting against the head board, narrowing his eyes and folding his arms across his chest. “Why are you doing this, Erik? What do you want?”

His husband feigns ignorance at Charles’ accusation with a shrug, which only serves to infuriate him. “Not hungry? That’s fine. I can have the servants make you something later if you want.”

“You are being very…conciliatory,” Charles intones, shooting a pointed glare at Erik, though it appears to have very little effect on the king. “Do you need my help with the English Ambassador? Did you insult the Lady MacTaggert’s lineage again?”

Erik waves a dismissive hand, moving to uncover the silver tray and placing it on Charles’ lap. “No there is nothing to fix on this fine morning Charles. Though I do have a…proposal I’d like you to consider.”

“A proposal,” Charles repeats, plucking a raspberry from the porcelain bowl and popping it into his mouth. The burst of flavor is sweet and lovely, encapsulating the beauty and bountiful goodness of Genosha in summer. “What proposal?”

“A trip,” Erik answers, “to tour the country. A chance for us to see the state of the land ourselves and for the locals to meet the new Prince Consort. I’ve asked Emma to clear our schedules for the next two weeks.”

It’s not a bad idea, Charles thinks; for all that he’s spent six months in Genosha, he has yet to see anything beyond the Capital of Hammer Bay and its immediate surroundings. He is curious to meet the ordinary citizens who have come from all over the world to live here, mutants drawn to a place where they can be safe and free.

It will also give him time to figure out Erik’s motives, and what - if anything - Charles needs to do to counteract his plans.

“Alright,” he agrees, and allows himself to return Erik’s pleased grin. “Let’s do it.”


	3. A Treaty and a Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles gets unwelcome news from his father Brian Xavier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don’t think I’ll be posting more chapters at QUITE this same pace, but hopefully there will be more lol :D Also, please enjoy the idea of [Sir Patrick Stewart as Admiral Brian Xavier](http://gerec.tumblr.com/post/127650292631/all-of-you-and-all-of-me-chapter-3-a-treaty-and-a) of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. (Hugh Dancy is unfortunately a touch too young to be a good fancast for this AU).

_9 Months Ago  
Graymalkin House, London _

Charles is in the study, finishing a second draft of his letter to Henry when he’s interrupted.

“Sir, the Admiral has returned and has asked to see you in the drawing room,” Stevens says. By his tone of voice Charles can tell that the request is important if not quite urgent, so he quickly signs his name and seals the envelope, handing it to Stevens on the way past.

“Mind posting this for me please?” he asks with his most charming grin, feeling victorious when he manages to get a raised eyebrow and the slightest quirk of lips from their unflappable butler. He half walks, half dashes down the winding staircase and through the halls, only stopping to straighten his jacket as he approaches the door to the drawing room.

He knocks before stepping in, sending a mental greeting to his father as he approaches. Brian turns to greet him with a warm smile, though his eyes are edged with tension. He waves for Charles to sit in one of the chairs beside him, a cup of tea already poured and piping hot on the table.

“How was the meeting with His Majesty?” Charles asks, taking a sip of his tea and watching his father’s face over the rim of his cup. “Has the treaty been signed then?”

Brian, suddenly looking years older than his youthful fifty, scrubs his face tiredly and sighs. “Yes. The King of Genosha has agreed to all the terms. Finally. Including His Majesty’s offer of an arranged marriage with one of England’s own.”

Charles chuckles, “And who did his Royal Arrogance pick to be his new spouse? Wait don’t tell me! I’m sure he picked a mutant, considering his rather…opinionated views about their superiority to the rest of our species.”

“I don’t think you’re going to like his choice.”

“Why…not Lady Jean Grey! She’s beautiful of course, and her powers are delightful but she’s already betrothed! Is he really such a manner-less brute that he would use the treaty to end their engagement?”

His father shakes his head. “No, not Jean, Charles. But he did pick a telepath for a spouse.”

“Who…” he starts, even though the grim expression on Brian’s face and his memories from earlier in the day give the answer away. “Me? He can’t be…no! He doesn’t even like me! And _I_ certainly can’t give him any heirs! Why would he pick _me_?”

He can feel Brian deliberately reaching out to Charles, sending calm and reassuring thoughts in an attempt to assuage his building anger and disbelief. “Any other time I would remind you what a handsome and brilliant young man you’ve become, Charles, and tell you that you would make a fine spouse for any lucky man or woman. And while all of that is still true, I do believe that your selection has at least in part to do with me. That is – because you are _my_ son, and bear the Xavier name.”

Charles slumps into his seat, all of his manners forgotten. “You think he wants to marry me as a way to punish you. Because you’ve been leading His Majesty’s Navy in battle against Genosha for the last ten years.”

His father nods, though he looks anything but happy to be right about his assertion. “I have met Erik Lehnsherr many times, on the battlefield and off. He is a man with a lot of rage, and a long memory.”

Charles looks up sharply. “We’ve killed a lot of his people in an effort to bring Genosha into the Empire. Innocent women and children, Father. You can hardly blame him for being angry about _that_.”

“And we have had this argument before, Charles. I might not always agree with His Majesty but I must obey his orders or commit treason. I don’t blame Lehnsherr for his bitterness, though a father _can_ mourn how his actions affect his beloved son.”

He has no words to answer his father’s admission, and so the two sit quietly and drink their tea. Charles’ thoughts race through the myriad implications of what the arranged marriage will mean for him. He will surely have to move there and leave his entire life behind. His father, his sister Raven and all of the servants he has grown to love as his family. He will have to forego his teaching position at Oxford, only newly acquired, and the many friendships and professional contacts he has nurtured since he came of age.

And then there is Logan, who he has grown to love with nothing less than his whole heart.

“I don’t suppose I have a choice?” he says, his voice devoid of any emotion.

His father reaches to pull him into his arms, as he hasn’t done since Charles was a boy of ten. He lets Charles see his conversation with the King, how he argued against Lehnsherr’s choice and how it could endanger his son’s life. That he had served the King loyally for so many years and asked that his child be spared a marriage without love. In the end, the King had sympathized with Brian but would not be dissuaded. The treaty would be signed, and Charles would be married in three months.

“I’m sorry, my boy,” his father whispers. “I’m so very, very sorry.”


	4. Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A response from Logan to Erik's actions at the ball. And Logan remembers an important moment with Charles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Xavierine chapter, for those interested in Logan's response to Erik kissing Charles at the ball. This is probably it for this au for a little while, as I go back to finishing some other WIPs. Hope you enjoy!

_Logan_

Logan storms out of the ballroom before the applause even ends, afraid of what he might do if doesn’t take himself away from the spectacle that is the King of Genosha, his hands and lips all over the man he loves.

It is one thing to _know_ , in the disquiet of his own mind that Lehnsherr touches Charles; fucks him at his pleasure and at his command. But he has never had to bear witness to any displays of affection before, because Lehnsherr has never so much as held Charles’ hand where others could see, except for the day the two exchanged their vows of matrimony.

And even on that day, Logan did not _see_.

Someone is chasing after him as he moves through the halls, the footsteps too light and sure to be anyone but Raven. He ignores her, intent on making his way to Charles’ rooms and wait, anxious to ease the jealousy brewing in his gut. Logan is well aware that he is being rash, reacting so violently to a passionately staged kiss, yet he has lived too long a life already to misunderstand what he sees; a blatant and possessive claim by a man hopelessly and irrevocably in love.

His way towards the royal chambers is abruptly halted by the Lady Frost, who steps in front of him just as Raven catches up and takes his arm. Too angry to be polite he shrugs her off, crossing his arms in defiance as Frost levels him with an icy glare.

“It has been a long night Mr. Howlett,” she says, with a hint of warning that is strangely mixed with pity. “I suggest you go back to your rooms and…sleep it off.”

“I don’t take orders from you Frost,” he snarls, even as Raven grabs his shoulder with a warning tug. “What I do is none of your business.”

“Logan,” Raven interrupts, her voice breaking through the escalating tension as he faces off against the telepath. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.” Her grip tightens until it becomes painful, dragging Logan back from the edge. “This is…unproductive.”

Emma glances between the two of them for a few moments before she sighs, the fight draining from her body. “The Prince Consort won’t be available to see either of you tonight. He is to spend the night with the King,” she explains, her words blunt though not unkind. “Take your rest, and try again in the morning.”

She turns away in a whirl of silk and perfume, leaving them alone in the halls. Raven loops their arms together and tugs him gently, drawing him ever away from his intended destination. They exit the palace into the royal gardens, wandering in silence until they arrive at a marble overlook with a breathtaking view of the sea.

“I would have preferred to be wrong,” she says, gazing out into the dark waters of Hammer Bay. “I know this must be hard for you. _Has_ been hard for you and Charles both. But you must know that nothing Erik does will change how my brother feels about you, Logan. He loves _you_ ; has loved you from the day he first saw you, swimming naked in our pond at Graymalkin.” She laughs and Logan chuckles at the memory that her words invoke. “I don’t know what the future holds for you both, but Charles is a man of his word. He made promises to you that came from his heart, and to his heart he will forever hold true.”

_Logan slips into Charles’ room after the servants have gone to bed, and is unsurprised to find his lover still awake, staring morosely at his belongings. There are two large steamer trunks crammed full of clothes and papers and books, though hardly a fraction of all that Charles has accumulated from his life at Graymalkin. He resolutely ignores the wedding clothes laid out by the maid by the changing screen, and takes a seat beside Charles on the bed._

_“I don’t think I can do this,” Charles says, leaning his head against Logan’s shoulder. Logan slips an arm around Charles and kisses him, brushing a loose curl from his lover’s forehead. “How can I leave this all behind? And marry a man who despises me?”_

_“I know,” he answers, as Charles tucks himself against Logan for comfort. Charles has always been confident and self-possessed, and wise beyond his years; this is the first time that their age difference has really hit home for Logan, that his lover is not much more than a boy, and too young to have to live with such sacrifice and heartache._

_“I’m glad you’re coming with me, and Raven too. It’s selfish I know, to want you both to give up your lives here so I won’t have to be alone. But I’m glad nonetheless…I don’t know…I don’t know how to live without you, Logan. Not anymore.”_

_He tilts Charles’ face so he can look into those brilliant blue eyes, and peppers his lips with fervent kisses. “You don’t have to live without me. Not ever. I swear it.”_

_“I hate that I have to lie. That I have to stand in front of God and my father and make vows I don’t mean to a man I hardly know! It’s not fair! If I’m to make vows of love I want to make them to_ you _! I love_ you _!”_

_Logan smiles, brushing Charles’ cheek with his calloused thumb. “Then make them to me, and I will make them to you. And we – and God – will know in our hearts what is true.”_

_Charles expression softens at his words, and he pulls away slightly to take Logan’s hands. “I will take you, James Logan Howlett into my heart and keep you, and will love no other as I promise now to love you. Though I cannot vow to be faithful in body I shall be so in my mind and heart and soul, for I belong to you, and you to me.”_

_“And I will never stop loving you, Charles Francis Xavier, for all the days of my life,” Logan answers, “I will honor you and protect you and promise to forsake all others. I will never abandon you, or forget you, for you have my mind and heart and soul as well. For I belong to you, and you to me.”_

Logan turns to Raven then, and squeezes her hand. “Thank you,” he says, “for stopping me from doing anything rash back there with Frost. I appreciate your friendship, and your support.”

“I love Charles,” she answers with a fond smile, “and you too you big lump. Try not to do anything stupid and get kicked out of the country. That will hardly get you more time with my brother.”

“I’ll do my best.” He looks up at the stars twinkling bright in the Genoshan sky, and takes a deep breath. “But don’t expect me to do nothing, Raven. I won’t give Charles up without a fight. And if Lehnsherr wants a fight, a fight he’s gonna get.”


	5. First Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first Christmas Charles is spending away from his father, his friends and everything he loves back in London. Erik tries to make things just a little bit better for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've entirely given up on writing this in any kind of chronological order lol. So here is a ficlet of their first holiday season together, which takes place a few months after the trip Erik suggests that they take to tour Genosha. Erik is Jewish, so he's not celebrating Christmas with Charles, but obviously he's doing what he can to make his Consort happy. Enjoy!

He wakes on Christmas morning alone, the spot beside him predictably empty, and already cool to the touch.

It’s not what gives Charles pause though, as he luxuriates in his comfortable bed; rather, it’s the conflicted emotions he’s experiencing now and on an almost daily basis, nearly a year after his arrival in Genosha and newly wed to its king.

His head feels a little groggy still from too much brandy, and his limbs ache deliciously from a night of passion, from hours of bliss in the arms of his patient lover. His time with Logan has eroded slowly these past months, with Charles’ duties as Consort increased along with his own desire to serve. It had surprised him, to fall in love so deeply with this bountiful land and its resilient people, aided in no small part by the trip he took with Erik to tour the country, and to see the beauty of Genosha up close.

And it had surprised him even more, to wake up one morning and find his feelings for Erik too irrevocably changed, so much that the early days of their union – filled with cold silences and awkward exchanges – seem now like a lifetime ago, and not mere months in the counting. If pressed, Charles might even concede to a real fondness for his mercurial mate, though whatever else he might feel is still too bewildering to examine in depth.  

Once it had seemed inconceivable, that he would ever become used to waking in his husband’s arms, nestled in his husband’s bed. That it would be Erik’s _absence_ that would seem strange, weeks after the two were first forced to share chambers on the road; a habit that continued inexplicably upon their return to the palace.

Even more inconceivable that the merest specter of guilt should fall over the precious moments Charles spends with Logan, whom he yet loves with his whole heart.

A knock on the door interrupts his jumble of thoughts, dragging Charles further into consciousness as he props himself up on the bed. He grabs his crumpled night shirt off the floor and shrugs it hastily over his shoulders, grimacing when a cramp shoots unexpectedly up his left leg. 

“ _Come in_.”

His discomfort must be have been clear, because Erik is stalking across the room and at his side in a flash, hands bracing him as he rubs gingerly at his calf. It does little to soothe the pain until Erik takes over, Charles’ leg across his lap as he seats himself on the bed, hands warm and sure as they work diligently to ease the tension.

“Better?” Erik asks, amusement evident at the reaction he garners, leveling him with a teasing grin. But Charles is unashamed of the moans being dragged from his lips, slowly relaxing against the pillows under Erik’s skillful hands. “Too much dancing with Raven last night?”

“Possibly,” he answers, ignoring the guilty twinge in his gut. It’s not a lie, not completely – Charles _had_ spent the evening in the company of his sister and Logan, decorating the tree in his rooms and reminiscing over past Christmases at Graymalkin.  There had been singing and dancing, and too much drink; just enough to dull the homesickness that had flared painfully during his favorite time of year. And he had indulged greatly in the opportunity to be with Logan again, to kiss and touch and just _be_ in each other’s company, knowing that his husband would be too busy to interrupt, celebrating his own traditions for the holidays. “I might have pulled a muscle trying to decorate the top of the Christmas tree.”

Erik laughs. “Perhaps I should have asked Reynard to grow you a smaller tree. It’s a good thing you didn’t fall and break a leg on Christmas Eve.”

He would not believe it still if he hadn’t seen the dazzling power for himself; a Gift that allowed one to control and grow plant life rapidly regardless of soil or climate. Reynard had used his power every year to grow the giant Christmas spruce that decorated the palace’s main entry way; this year, he had grown a second, much smaller version specifically for the Consort’s rooms at the King’s behest.

“No it’s perfect,” Charles replies, reaching instinctively for Erik’s hand and giving it a light squeeze. “I want to thank you again, for your kindness. I know you don’t celebrate Christmas yourself…you didn’t have to go to all the trouble of securing me my own tree, and decorations too. It means a lot.”

“I was happy to do it,” Erik says, his hand moving to cup Charles’ cheek. “I know that I haven’t always been the best husband to you—”

“No! You’ve been very generous; I have everything I need—”

“—but I mean to change that, Charles. Perhaps it’s still too soon but someday, I hope our union will become much more than an obligation to you.”

Charles shakes his head. “Erik, I don’t—”

His words are cut short by the press of Erik’s lips, a soft and insistent kiss that bypasses all of Charles’ defenses. More and more he finds himself unable to resist – to guard his emotions and keep them separate from their physical relationship. It’s become much too easy to fall into Erik’s arms and succumb to his touch; to lose himself in the burgeoning heat when he’s pressed gently down onto the bed.

“ _Erik_ ,” he gasps, already hard from the feel of his husband’s body on top of him, caging him, holding him still. Their attraction to each other has always been intense, even from the first when they were two strangers on their wedding night, forced to share a bed. And time and familiarity has only enflamed their passion since, the sparks igniting red hot with the slightest touch, or a barely whispered name.

He moans then as Erik takes him in hand and strokes him, desire and lust coursing like liquid fire through his veins. Charles bucks and writhes and fucks into Erik’s hand, uncaring of the way he sounds – so wanton and needy, keening as Erik leaves teeth marks all over his skin. Too soon he’s spilling with a cry that Erik inhales hungrily, swallowing the sounds of pleasure tumbling from Charles’ gasping lips.

“Do you intend to end all our discussions this way?” he pants, taking a few moments to catch his breath as Erik looks down at him with a grin. “And shall I respond to you in kind?”

“Later, if you’re amenable,” is the reply, and Charles arches like a cat against the warm palm stroking his cheek. “I have something to show you that I think you will enjoy very much.”

Charles laughs. “More enjoyable than just now?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Indulge me, all the same.”

He straightens with an exaggerated sigh, and lets Erik tug him carefully onto his feet. Still lax from his release he allows himself to be easily maneuvered, settling back against Erik’s chest as he’s angled towards the drapery covered windows.

“Is it still raining?” Charles teases. “Only, it’s been raining non-stop for the last three days, so I guess it _would_ be quite a surprise if it’s finally stopped.” 

Surprisingly it’s the sub-tropical climate of Genosha that solidifies Charles’ yearning for home, with December falling in the midst of its hottest – and rainiest – season. He aches to be so far from wintery London situated half a world away, where his father and his friends must be attending Church services in the snow.

“It _has_ stopped raining,” Erik whispers, his arms tightening just slightly around Charles’ waist. “Look.”

The heavy drapery pulls open with a flourish, tugged apart by the metal hidden in its seams. It reveals a sight that makes Charles gasp with disbelief; a blanket of white and the flutter of snowflakes falling steadily outside his bedroom window.

“What… _how_?”

“Ororo,” Erik explains, and Charles is so stunned that he has to take a step closer, and press his nose against the frosted glass. “I asked if she could change the weather for us, temporarily of course. And just over the palace grounds.”

Charles is speechless for long moments, his eyes drifting over the trees and the flowers, all covered in an inch of snow. For a moment he can pretend that he’s looking out his bedroom at Graymalkin, and the ache in his chest morphs into something dangerously close to...

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes, instead of following his thoughts down that treacherous path. “I can’t believe it. You brought me snow.”

“I know that you miss home,” Erik acknowledges, and Charles has to close his eyes at the painful sincerity in his voice. “I know it’s not the same thing; that I can’t _really_ give you a snowy Christmas in London, or your father’s presence…”

Charles turns and wraps his arms around his husband, tugging him close. “No, this is…I don’t know how to tell you how much this means to me. I love it. Thank you, Erik.”

“You’re welcome,” Erik replies with a sigh, nuzzling his face in Charles’ bed tousled hair. “I think, in the new year, we can make plans for a trip to London. To see your king, and pay a visit to the Admiral.”

And what else can Charles do then but kiss him? For giving Charles the very thing he’d wished for but could have never expected? “You’ve made me the happiest man in Genosha, Erik Lehnsherr.”

Erik smiles. “As you have with me, Charles.”


End file.
